


The Most Efficient Way: a Between the Lines fic

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Series: Between the Lines [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, BUT NOT THIS DAY, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Choking, Desk Sex, Established Relationship, Finger guns, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Dom/sub, Like, M/M, Shower Sex, Slice of Life, There WILL be smut!, also he has a leather jacket that i barely described, anyway he speaks french & niall's a wreck for it, but there's more to come in chapter 3, but they're bad at it, chapter 1 is literally just a silly fun time, chapter 2 is where we get the wild shit, dev is turbulence, dev speaks french, dev trying to be sexy while trying to yeet his wet clothes, did i mention dev's part french? anyone pick up on his mum's name in chapter...what. 17? 18?, getting stuck in a tube slide, i will add the additional tags when chapter 2 is published & they become relevant, idk what it is but niall sure does & he won't hesitate bitch, ie. the title of niall's memoir, inwardly, it works but only marginally, it's about the nuance, it's mild. Also I love how the slice of life & choking tags are just chilling next to each other, just now realizing i forgot to make a god joke about niall's dick, like a bit awkward about it but we love to see it, maybe chapter 3 will be the one., niall hates dev's jacket, niall is charmed but wishes he wasn't, odd references to maths, okay it's like one line, outwardly he's like whatever man., probably because it's an article of clothing, remember when i said i'd add the chapter 2 tags later? guess i lied, the difference between statistical significance & probability, then getting unstuck from a tube slide, then going back home lol, today we are reminiscing & making out, two idiots running around in the rain, use y'all's imaginations for that bit i'm tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: Dev & Niall get drenched in the rain, then head home to warm up.or, a slice of life for two mad lads absolutely arse over tit for each other.(Set a few weeks after chapter 20 of Between the Lines, though this can probably be read without prior knowledge.)first chapter rated M
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow)
Series: Between the Lines [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464463
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anika222](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anika222/gifts).



> written for the carry on countdown day 8: rain
> 
> & I am back on my DeNiall bullshit. (Always.) 
> 
> I put out a prompt list on tumblr months ago & one of them was kissing in the rain! Thanks to Ani for this one. So glad to finally be able to post it.
> 
> Anyway this is taking place in late January 2016, so just a bit ahead of where we are in the main BTL fic. Hope y'all enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turbulence.

**NIALL**

Bloody fucking cold out, and now it’s tipping down as well.

Dev takes to it like an oddly excited fish.

We should've stayed in. Should've stayed in and ordered takeaway and fucked and played FIFA and fucked again. Why is it I so rarely manage to shoot down his whims? It's not like he lured me out here with promises of sexual favours (and I am _not_ taking my prick out in this weather) (Come to think of it, I'm _surprised_ he didn't lure me out here with promises of sexual favours…)

He lifts his face to the night sky, deranged as he is, and the smile he's got setting in reminds me.

I'm in love with an idiot.

Fuck it all.

I've got about a second to yank my hood lower over my face before he's grabbing my hand and pulling at me, rainwater wet between our palms. "C'mon," he prods. " _Come on._ "

And then he's running. Laughing. And I'm trying to keep up without catching one of his shoes. (The last thing we need is to go tumbling down onto the tarmac.) (I might be for it over grass. When it’s _dry._ )

It's coming down proper now, drenching us. It looks like a fucking assault in the light of the streetlamps.

"Where are you going?!" I yell. I'm not sure he'll hear me over all the rain and our footsteps smacking against the road.

He yanks at me some more. "Told you! Playground!"

I've no idea what we'll do on a playground in the fucking rain.

" _You're a maniac!_ " My face is twitching as I get dollop after dollop of rain in my eyes. As I'm slapped wetly in the face again and again and _again._ Lucky it's not hail, I suppose. That probably wouldn't stop him, either.

Death itself couldn’t stop Dev Grimm. He’d make himself the King of Hell.

" _You love it, darling!_ " he yells over his shoulder.

Well. I can't deny that he's the sole source of spontaneity in my life. Without him I'd probably be poring over statistics with no one to make fun of me for liking it _._

Sometimes I wonder why I love him so much. I like _solving_ problems—it’s what I’m good at—and he’s an unanswerable one. He’s a bloody _pile_ of them.

I suppose that’s part of his appeal. (I won’t say _charm._ Don’t want to boost his ego too much.)

There’s the playground coming up, alright. We end up hurtling onto the grass, into the sand, between the swings so fast the chains let fly water—and go _swinging,_ as they do, because Dev slapped one as we ran past and it’s collided with the other.

I wouldn’t mind swinging if it weren’t bloody _raining._ I don’t fancy freezing water soaked through to my arse from a wet seat.

What’s that I said about Dev being a fish? I take it back. He’s like a monkey. In the rain. A fucking _sea monkey_. Dressed in a very distracting leather jacket.

Clearly the weather’s getting to me if I’ve resorted to comparing my boyfriend to brine shrimp. (The brine shrimp himself’s getting to me, but what else is new.)

“ _C’mon, darling!”_ he yells back. As if I have a choice.

And then he’s climbing up the play structure, and I’m climbing up after him.

**DEV**

How was I to know it’d be raining cats and dogs tonight?

Not that _knowing_ would’ve stopped me. It’s good to have a bit of surprise in your life, a bit of adversity. (It’s going to be a bit of a time peeling Niall out of his wet clothes once we’re back at the dorms, but I’m itching for it. It’ll be like unwrapping a late Christmas present. Or an early birthday present, I guess.) (Either or. Either _way._ Best prezzie I could ask for, really.) (We’ll go with early birthday. It _is_ my birthday week, after all.)

Niall’s more the sort to stay in on rainy days, or at least under cover. I’ve seen him sat outside on the veranda, nursing tea and staring out into space. Thinking, probably, or maybe that’s when he takes a break from it. Those’re some of my favourite times to watch him. His fringe fluffs up and curls a bit at the ends from that extra bit of humidity. I used to think about pushing it out of his eyes. Very platonic of me. Just watching out, you know.

It makes me laugh now, and he yells at me as we climb the play thingy with the big spiral slide on. “ _What’s so funny?”_

“ _Laughing at myself for wanting to fuck you!”_

“ _What!”_

“ _Back when I didn’t realise I wanted to fuck you!_ ” Alright, so it was more about wanting to see all the shades of brown and amber in his eyes. Whatever.

“ _You’re mad!_ ”

I flip around and face him, and I nearly fall on my arse from how bloody slippery this thing is. I feel his grip tighten on my hand, and he throws out his other arm like it’s nothing, but I don’t go down. “ _See? Nearly made me swoon, didn’t you?”_

I think he rolls his eyes. The lighting on the playground’s dim, and it’s black as pitch out here, but I see it. He looks like a hot hoodlum with his hood up and his wet fringe hanging in his eyes, and that look of pure bloody murder he’s shooting me... Fuck.

“ _You’re pissed off, aren’t you!”_ I ask.

“ _I’m_ drenched. _And why the fuck are we yelling?!_ ”

I tug on his hand. “ _C’mon, darling. I’ll get you to safety._ ” And I pull him with me towards the slide.

**NIALL**

We end up clambering into the slide. Or Dev ends up sort of pushing me into it, and he crawls in after.

And now we’re both hunched and cramped and trying to fit without falling down the damn thing. (This sort of manoeuver was much easier when we were kids. Especially since he’s got the Grimm legs.)

Should’ve stayed in and played FIFA.

Fucking hell, it smells of plastic and hyperactive children in here.

I lean back and look at him. Or I lean back as much as I can without compromising my purchase. He’s grinning like mad, and I can feel it—me about to let my guard down, because all it ever takes is that fucking _grin_ —but then he’s shaking his head, shaking his hair out, and I can’t believe I’ve done this. Tethered myself to him, this nuisance of a man who shakes the rain from his hair like a dog and then looks at me with clear confusion. _Oh, you didn’t want me to shake off on you, darling?_

_Bet you liked it anyway, didn’t you?_

I’ve got Dev Grimm hairwater in my mouth. Fuck’s sake.

“So,” I start after giving him a firm nudge in the leg. (Too close-quarters for a kick at the moment, so I’ll wait to pummel him into the ground at home.) “This your grand plan, is it?”

One eyebrow lifts. He’s giving me the sort of look that makes me want to punish him. Get him riled up then make him wait.

Ah, I see. This really was part of his plan all along.

He traps his tongue between his teeth—wicked thing that it is, that _he_ is—and says, “Might I interest you...in a bit of a snog?”

I try to keep my face looking neutral at best, annoyed at worst. (I _am_ annoyed. And also _a bit of a snog’s_ the least he could give me in return for dragging me out here.) “You know what you are?” I ask. Something hot rises in my belly while I wait for the answer.

“The wind beneath your wings?”

Fuck.

I snort. “Turbulence. _Turbulence_ is more what you are.”

He reaches for me and pushes my wet fringe from my eyes. “You love it, darling.” Then he goes for my hood, pushing it down and taking my face in his hands. I jump at the chill in his fingers. “Also you’re well fit this way.”

I squint at him. “Drenched to the bone and freezing my arse off?”

“I was thinking more like, _love seeing you all wet-like; could do a hot shower together once we’re home._ ”

We’ve never showered together before. Not like _this._

He comes in close, and I take hold of one of his wrists as he does. His eyebrows quirk and I swear to God that piercing in his nose _glimmers._ “What’s the statistical significance that you’ll agree to that?”

Jesus Christ. “The probability,” I say. “What’s the _probability—_ ”

“I’ll let you boss me around,” he says. “All wet-like—”

I shut him up in the most efficient way.

**DEV**

Niall kisses me rough and soft at the same time, and sometimes I wonder how he manages it.

Most of the time I just melt into it.

Melting at the moment’s a bit of work considering we’re crammed into a tube slide, but I’m doing the best I can. Melting metaphorically.

Also being soaking wet’s sort of lost its appeal. Running ‘round in the rain was fun and all, and seeing him drenched was more than a turn on, but now I feel too cold and too wet and too... _sticky?_ (Why’s it sticky?) (We’ll go with humidity. That’s the least offensive option…)

Snogging him’s _good,_ anyway. Always is.

Sometimes it feels like we’re wrestling with our mouths, and I _like_ that. Love it, really. Have to put up a bit of a fight before I let him take full control. Can’t give myself over easy. (It wouldn’t be half as fun, though I _would_ do it.)

He grabs me by the front of my jumper and pulls me closer—a bit impressive considering how close we already are—and groans against my mouth. I groan right back (and melt a little more).

It feels like we’re getting into fogged-up windows territory. Or we would be if there were windows in here. Reminds me of one of our last nights in Hampshire earlier this month. He drove us to the pub, and on our way back home he drove us off the road.

“ _What’re you doing, darling?”_ I asked.

And he said, _“Making up for the other night_.”

I didn’t need him to make up for anything. But we did get in the back seat. And we _did_ steam up the windows. And he _did_ give me what was arguably the best blowie of my life. And afterwards, he looked up at me all wicked-like, his pupils blowing out the brown in his eyes, and said, _“Better than whatever you got in the Nico’s carpark?”_ and I would’ve knocked him over right there if my dick weren’t still in his hand.

Instead I just nodded my head and said, _“You know it, darling.”_

Fuck me., I really, _really_ can’t wait to be home. I’m not above a lot of things when it comes to getting off, but fucking in a slide’s a bit dodgy, even for me.

I guess the whole _getting Niall out of the rain by cramming us in a tube slide_ didn’t turn out as romantic as I thought. Still, my mind’s _going places_ as we push and pull against each other’s mouths, and as I get my hands up in his hair, and as he presses a palm to the back of my neck. As our breath speeds up. When I dip my tongue against the old scar in his upper lip and feel him shiver a bit.

I suck at his bottom lip and give it a bit of a bite before I pull back. “D’you think I could straddle you in here?” I ask. It just falls out. (Maybe I _haven’t_ drawn the line at getting off in a tube slide…)

“ _What._ ”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, like...if you sat in the hole and held on to the top…?”

“ _What_ —?”

Ah, good. This seems as good a time as any to get him riled up.

I adjust until I’m on my knees (harder than you’d think in such close quarters) and in his space, pulling the neck of his hoodie to the side so I can reach the skin there. His pulse beats against my lips, and then I leave a trail of nips and kisses up the side of his throat. I flick his frozen earlobe with my tongue once I’m there, then whisper, “You know what we should’ve done?”

“Mm. What’s that?” His words are all breathy. _Good._

“Brought something to drink,” I say. “Could’ve got drunk and snogged on the climbing frame.”

He yanks away playfully. (As best as he can, which isn’t far.) “ _No._ We’ve class in the morning—”

“Mm.” I plant another kiss beneath the hinge of his jaw (Niall’s got a _fantastic_ jaw; it’s ridiculous). “I love it when you get all responsible, darling. Puts me in the mood.”

“Come off it.”

“Could’ve done drunk blowies.”

“ _No—_ ”

“ _Fine._ I’d’ve done you—”

“Oh my fucking God.”

He pushes at me, and I push back, our boots squeaking against plastic, our breath and laughter echoing off the walls, and at some point it turns into a competition. Personally I’m going for _how long till I can provoke him into snogging me again._ I think _he_ might just be trying to push me down the slide.

No, he’s _definitely_ just trying to push me down the slide.

**NIALL**

I’m trying to push him down the slide.

Partly because he deserves it. Partly because the faster we’re out of this damn thing, the faster we’re home and naked. And because I’m so cold at this point that a hot shower sounds practically divine.

The idea of Dev—all _wet-like,_ as he put it—black hair soaked and slicked, water dripping down, and down, and _down…_

He’ll probably shake it out again, his hair. And if he does, I’ll push him up against the shower wall and make him _wait._

I push against him now. He’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and _fuck,_ he’s got me losing my balance. (He’s _always_ got me losing my balance.)

Two can play, and I do. I think I’ve got him—I’m just thinking he’s done for when he pushes me well enough to fall.

He catches me by a belt loop, that wicked grin taking up the whole of his face, practically.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got— _oi!_ ”

And we fall down, a tumbling mess of laughs and the sound of rubber against plastic and flying limbs until the slide spits us out spitefully at the other end. The ground knocks the wind out of me as it meets me, and Dev knocks it out some more when he lands on top of me.

“Fuck’s sake,” I whisper.

Dev’s catching most of the rain, but some of it is still falling onto my face. It's like a bloody personal vendetta.

“Rough landing?” he asks.

“I hate you.”

“Not for long, you won’t,” he says. When I look up at him, he’s smirking. He’s bubbling to the brim with confidence. I've the urge to pin him into the ground, right into the dirt.

He’s the worst. Also he’s got sand-mud splatter all over his new leather jacket (I took the brunt of it, but he still got a bit).

"You're ruining your stupid jacket," I say. My voice sounds like I'll have a bruised back tomorrow.

"I don't think you're in a position to slander my jacket, darling," he says.

"I don't think you're in a position to tell me what to do," I shoot back. Something hot trickles down my spine as I say it, and _Dev…_

Well. He's giving me a look. He's biting his lip.

_Fuck._

He... _considers_ me. And pushes my wet hair out of my eyes again. And then he says, "We still on for that _hot_ shower—"

I shut him up in the most efficient way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an infinite number of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter written for the carry on countdown day 18: side ships (but never on the side in my heart)
> 
> hey y'all! welcome back. apologies for dropping off; if you follow me on tumblr or insta you might know i ended up throwing in the towel on completing the whole countdown this year. it's been a long, hard year, & i just didn't have it in me to stress about doing prompts every day. a difficult decision to make, but hopefully the right one. 
> 
> anyway! welcome to chapter 2. this is...ruthlessly horny, but also sweet in its way, i think. hope y'all enjoy.
> 
> super duper thanks to [@otherworldsivelivedin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn) & [@sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover) for beta reading!!! thanks as well to [@anika222](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anika222/pseuds/anika222) & mr scoknee for help with french. <333

**NIALL**

It's still pouring by the time we get back to the dorms.

It was a bit of a long walk, so at least the rain washed some of the mud away. Still, I'm cold, and wet, and more than a bit horny.

Dev kept stopping us to kiss me, and I did my best to ram him into the nearest tree or street lamp whenever applicable.

Being with him…

I never realised this side of me _existed._ It's good to let it loose.

The onslaught of rain finally stops as we make our way between the buildings, the sound of water on roofs and metal a much more pleasant way to experience the weather.

We could've come out here and watched the rain fall, for all I care.

Bloody Dev and his ridiculous plans.

That's alright. He'll pay for it in time.

I shiver at the thought. Or maybe that’s the cold.

His fingers twine with mine now, and it still feels new. It’s _good_. Warm despite the chill in the air (he’s had them shoved in the pockets of that bloody jacket). It's a _big,_ his hand, with long, clever fingers. It's different, but _right._

He knocks into my shoulder, and even that has a bit of a swagger to it. It makes me want to tackle him into the ground. On a dry day, at least. “Mine or yours, darling?” he says. It strikes a match low in my belly.

My room suddenly seems miles away.

“Mine,” I tell him. “Yours is likely a garbage heap.”

“Hm. That’s not a very nice thing to say to the bloke what’s about to suck you off.”

Fuck.

I feel him looking my way, and I lift my eyebrows to wind him up. (As if Dev ever needs winding.) “I reckon you’ll do it anyway.”

“Touché. It’s your fault I’ve developed such an oral fixation—“

“You’ve _always_ had an oral fixation,” I say as we climb the stairs to my dorm. (And as my face burns up.) “Though I will say, this is a much better use for your mouth.”

“Kinky, you are.”

“So you keep telling me,” I say as I let go of his hand and fish around in my jeans for my keys. Honestly, at this point I don’t think he’s wrong. Fancy that.

He takes hold of my hips from behind as I go about sliding the key into the lock with numb fingers. And then he presses himself to me, his entire front against my back, and I feel how hard he already is as he pulls my hood down and kisses the back of my neck with frozen lips.

I swallow, and the key doesn’t turn.

“Not out here, you lunatic,” I whisper as I pull at the doorknob and try the key again. Bloody fucking—

“Nobody’s around,” he whispers back. “Hm.” It’s a low hum. I can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Might be a bit exciting, wouldn’t it? One of these days. Fuck me right here.”

My heart pounds as I try the key again. “You’d never be quiet enough,” I shoot back. “You don’t have the discipline.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” His breath is hot at the back of my neck, his nose chilled. “I can be good.” Years of pent-up desire trickles down my spine and settles in my belly. Good God.

And then the door finally opens.

**DEV**

We lurch through the doorway, and I think it’s a right miracle we don’t end up on the ground.

Not that I’d mind. I’d fuck him right on the threshold if he’d let me. Entryway’s almost as good as.

I watch as he collects himself. Closes the door and locks it. Sets his keys down on top of the desk like he’s just getting in from class or the like.

He’s a vision to watch, really. (Oh, I’ve just had a _thought._ I need film of us fucking one of these days. Of him fucking me. Or the other way round.) (Doesn’t matter who’s doing the fucking as long as I’ve something to watch when I’m yearning. Something to listen to. Something to _remember_.)

He throws his fringe out of his eyes, and then he grabs me by my hips and pulls until we’re stood with our hips flush. _Jesus the Christ._

“Fucking hell, you’ve got a big cock,” I tell him. (I like to remind him when I can.)

He doesn’t say anything. He lets go of me instead, and takes a step back, and...looks me over. Like he’s studying something. Studying _me._

There’s a fire raging behind his eyes. It’s about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

And then he says, "Fuck, I hate you."

My brow furrows. "Wot?"

"I hate the jacket."

"You hate the— _what_?” My _jacket?_ What kind of lack of _taste_ is this?! “You taking the mickey—?"

"I am not."

"You're ruining your perfect image in my eyes, is what you're doing—"

"I _hate_ it," he says, and he practically grabs me by the scruff of the neck (I mean, he does) (if I weren't already hard, _fuck_ ), "because all I want to do when you've got it on is tear it off you."

Oh. Well this took a turn, didn’t it?

I do my damnedest to cock my head with him holding my neck the way he is. " _Kink—_ " And then he knocks the _y_ right out when he slams me back into the wall. (It's the gentlest sort of slam.) (Not that I've ever been slammed into a wall before.) (At least not in a sex way.) ( _Christ,_ having sex with Niall Sheridan is a _thing I get to do on the regular._ ) (Absolutely fucking wild.)

I try to smoulder at him, the sort where it's like an attack from beneath my eyelashes. He's watching my face, his eyes dipping down as I bite my bottom lip and trail my tongue over it…

...and then he's stepping closer, his hand loosening and stroking along the side of my neck, then my throat, fingers ghosting over my Adam's apple and sending sparks down my spine.

I try to think up something sexy to say— _anything—_ but what comes out is, "Remember the time you nearly made me come in my pants? Because you could do again if you keep this up."

He's so close now, I can feel his chin tilting as he juts it at me. "That's more than you deserve," he says. _Rasps,_ low and deep and just. _Fuck._

"Fuck, darling," I breathe. "I don't think you realise how fucking hard I am just now."

That creamy skin of his is starting to burn. (There’s _something_ about his confidence, and how he’s still nervous underneath it all. It’s fucking delicious.) “So that’s alright, then?”

“Hm?”

“The…” His thumb rubs over my Adam’s apple again, and then he’s pressing his palm up against my throat until the back of my head rests against the wall. He’s so close I could count the amber flecks in his eyes if I wanted to. (As it is, I don’t think there’s enough blood left in my brain to remember what numbers are.)

I nod as best I can, and grab his wrist, and drop my gaze to his mouth. The freckles at the corner. The thin scar through his upper lip that I love to trace with my tongue. (The scar on his lip I never thought I’d _get_ to trace with anything at all.)

His grip isn't tight, but it's enough to flood me with a surge of _want._ It's enough to feel my heart beating against his palm, to feel it racing as he reaches with his other hand and rubs the heel of his hand against my cock through my jeans.

He presses against me with both hands, and I swear to fuck my knees feel like they're about to buckle. (Is that something that actually happens to people?)

His lips brush up against my ear. (I'm about one million percent sure he's trying to kill me.) "I'm gonna let go," he whispers. "And you're gonna stand still, yes?"

I nod, which really amounts to pressing my chin into his hand.

"What was that?" he says.

"Yes," I breathe back.

His breath is warm against my ear. "Yes, what?"

_Oh._

My eyes fall closed as I swallow. I hope he can feel my throat bobbing beneath his palm...

And then I whisper, "Yes, sir."

**NIALL**

I've no idea what I'm doing.

All I know is I feel like I'm on fire as I let go of him. The quietest whine sounds in his throat without the pressure of my hand against his prick, but it's not loud enough for me to chastise him. (I've no idea when I decided there was a volume limit for punishment.) (I've no idea when I decided that sex would include _punishment._ )

I lift the hem of his jumper and tuck it against his belt. And then I reach for the buckle, pulling his hips towards me just slightly, letting it clatter open under my shaking hands.

His breath is shaking, too...

...and then I stop. Because I'm not sure why I'm undressing him already. Because, really, he should be undressing _me._

Or I could make him watch me undress myself.

Or I _could_ go back to undressing him, make him stand there naked with no relief…

Only I'm not sure I can wait myself.

I could just make him undress the both of us.

"What're you—" he starts, and honestly I'm surprised it's taken him this long to ask.

"Shut up," I say. I'm watching his face, trying my damnedest not to stare at his belt hanging open the way it is, at the bulge in his jeans that just makes my own erection throb. "Take your clothes off for me. _And_ ," I add, because he's already shrugging out of that godforsaken jacket before I've finished my sentence, "don't rush." I cross my arms and step back from him, giving him a once-over as I do. "Slow."

He cocks that Grimm eyebrow at me as he lets his jacket fall down his arms. (It drives me mad, watching him swagger about in leather, but it's even worse now as it slips and slips and slips.) He lets it fall to the floor in a heap, as if he wouldn't give his left arm for the stupid thing. "Slow, yeah?"

He's already getting under my skin. Of course he is. And he's stood there pulling his belt through the loops in his jeans like we've all the time in the world.

I didn't realise I was asking for a striptease, but I suppose he knew what I wanted before I did. Typical Dev. It makes me want to push him to his knees and pull his hair while that ridiculous mouth sucks me off.

That would only get him going more, and if I'm honest, that's always what I'm trying for.

"So," he says as he drops the belt and the buckle clatters against my floor, "Trousers or jumper first? Does baby wanna see how hard I am for him? Or should I save that for last?"

_Baby…_

He's only called me that once. Twice, now. It makes something warm bloom in my chest.

And the rest…

"Jumper first," I tell him. "And don't be quick about it."

It's not like we've never changed in front of each other. (It's not like we've never _undressed_ each other, not at this point.) But I've never watched him like this. Never let myself _feel_ the things I feel with each new inch of olive skin. The dusting of dark hair dipping into his jeans. All the lean muscle in his belly and chest and arms.

The suspense is nearly enough for me to say _to hell with it all_ and just fuck him into the wall instead. Which I suppose is what basically happened the other week against that tree in Hampshire, now that I think on it...

His hair manages to stay perfectly in place as he brings his jumper over his head and adds it to the pile. Or rather, it's perfectly _out_ of place, bits and pieces falling into his face and eyes...

He slicks it back with one infuriating hand, his eyebrow quirking at me in a way that makes me want to choke him. With _feeling_ , this time.

I let myself look at the rest of him, too, my eyes wandering over his chest. (I wonder briefly how he'd look with nipple piercings.) (He's mentioned the idea a few times, and I can't help but imagine how it'd feel to play with them.) (How it'd feel for _both_ of us.) His jeans are slung low on his hips without the help of his belt, the waistband of his pants dark against his skin.

He's got long, nimble fingers, and he's making a fucking show of undoing his button and flies. I absolutely should've anticipated this, and I think I probably _did_ , at least subconsciously.

I'm not sure I've ever been so hard.

**DEV**

I wonder what would happen if I call him _sir_ again.

That's what I'm thinking as I push my wet jeans down my hips. (It's a bit of work not to take my pants with them, but I'm supposed to be drawing this out. When I envisioned peeling us out of our wet clothes, it felt much more erotic.) (Not that this isn't erotic.) (It's a different sort. Maybe even better.) (I've just got to like...shimmy a bit.) (Fuck's sake.) (Maybe I should turn around.) (...I'm gonna turn around.)

"Did I tell you to turn 'round?"

I glance at him over my shoulder. _Fuck,_ but he looks good. His eyes are dark and dangerous. (Probably he's trying to make me come in my pants again. I'm sure he's already calculated the probability of that. The _statistical significance_.)

"Well?" His voice is just as dark and dangerous as his eyes, but the little shake in it gives him away.

This is all new. All for me.

And it drives me fucking mad.

I've still got my head turned towards my shoulder. (I'm trying to look appetising.) (I think it's working.) I shake it, just slightly. "No, _sir_ ," I say, just loud enough for him to hear me. "But I've got a fantastic arse. Thought maybe you'd like a look."

"You're very presumptuous."

I turn my head to stare at the wall. (I'm still struggling with my trousers, but I don't want to let on.) "That's how I get through life, darling."

He doesn't say anything. But I can feel him moving into my space. There's a hot jump in my belly when I feel his hands against my hips, his lips at my collar.

"Impatient, are you?" I ask, just to be a shit.

"No," he says, and I just about combust when he starts trailing his fingers along the inside of my waistband.

I need him lower. I need him _deeper_. But I know he's not going to give it to me. Not yet.

Fuck, my jeans. They're too snug to fall while they're wet.

I'm going to have to push them all the way down my legs.

Also I forgot to take my boots off first.

How the fuck am I supposed to make this sexy? I mean, I'm fairly confident I can do _anything_ sexy, but this is next level, really.

I roll my arse back against his dick.

And then I start to bend forward.

**NIALL**

Dev's dressed in a wet jumper, his jeans down 'round his ankles, his perfect arse rubbing up against my prick as he undoes the laces on his boots.

I find myself wanting to reach between his legs, to cup his bollocks and rub my thumb over the head of his cock through his pants. Just to feel how wet he already is, how much precome he's got beading there.

I'd do it, but I want him dripping before I touch him at all.

I just keep holding on to his hips and letting him go.

And I think about what it'd be like, to have him bent just like this, long legs spread while I drive into him.

It's a terrifying thought, but I want it anyway. I want all of him. And I want him to have all of me.

"Have you managed those boots yet?" I ask.

"Hm? Thought I was supposed to be slow about it."

"Take the boots off, D."

He bumps his arse back against me, and when I look down at him, he's grinning, his face turned slightly to the side, the piercing in his septum gleaming. "And you're calling me the impatient one."

He has a point.

Really, I just want his clothes off. But I don't want him _knowing_ that.

"Keep a good hold on me, darling," he says. Then he makes a show of rubbing against me while he wrestles the boots off his feet. He'd fall over if I didn't have a tight grip at his hips, and honestly I consider letting go. Letting him go down in surprise. It'd be amusing if nothing else, but he feels too good against me to give it up now.

"You like that?" he asks.

"No questions," I tell him.

"I'm just saying. You feel bloody brilliant for me, don't you? And from my own learned perspective, it feels like you like my arse like this—"

"D. Shut up and finish with your trousers."

"Alright, alright."

Well. So much for the _yes sirs_ and _no sirs._

"Do you need a reminder of how to behave?" I ask, and as the words fall out I feel the blood rushing to my prick. _Jesus_.

"What's on offer, darling?"

"Another hand 'round your neck in a minute, and if that doesn't do it, you're not getting off tonight."

He's still bent over in front of me, still taunting me, still trying to step out of his trousers without falling over when I see him turn his head. "Kinky."

"Observant, you are. It'd be a miracle if you could follow instruction half as well."

His eyebrow quirks as he tries to find balance on one foot, then the other. As he pushes his jeans to the side. As he peels off his socks. As he says, "You want your big cock in my arse, don't you?"

I don't know why the question surprises me. It's not like we haven't talked about this. But hearing him say it like _that_ …

Also the thought that he _shouldn't_ be asking questions is suddenly very far away.

He knocks back against me one more time. And then he's coming back to standing, the muscle beneath my palms flexing and shifting and driving me half-mad.

I drop my hands from his waist until I'm palming at the arse in question. Then I try to find where all that confidence ran off to, fail, and settle on improvisation instead.

"What I want is for you to take off your pants. And once they're gone, you'll wait for me to tell you to turn back 'round. Understood?"

He gives me another of those over-the-shoulder glances. (Christ, his shoulders are a godsend. Especially the bit of muscle moving between the blades while he trails his fingers beneath his waistband.) (Look at me, I even sound like him now. Horned up over bloody _shoulders._ )

I very nearly end up telling him to get himself off in front of me. To edge himself into oblivion while I watch. But no. I already miss his body.

I want to feel him against me again. I want us to come together, maybe more than once.

I want all the things I've craved for longer than I've realised.

I want _everything._

And then that eyebrow lifts in my direction, and Dev gives me a quiet, "Yes, sir," and I want more than everything.

I want an infinite number of things, and they're stood right in front of me.

**DEV**

It's a right miracle that I've survived this relationship at all, considering all the times we've gotten off together at this point.

It's downright risky. Life-threatening. Niall should be walking 'round with a warning label.

But I've always liked a bit of danger. A good adrenaline rush.

I cock one hip to the side, give him a good look at my arse as I slide my fingers along the inside of my waistband.

I imagine him watching me, eyes dark, and my dick pulses hotly at the thought.

I close my eyes. Breathe deep. And then I push my boxer briefs down one hip, then the other. Let them fall, then step out of them. Push them to the side with my foot.

It's exhilarating to finally be naked. A bit cold, too, but that makes it better, I think. Though I do miss the small bit of pressure from the fabric of my pants. The tightness of my wet jeans...

I need to touch myself. Or better yet, I need Niall to touch me.

"Like what you see, darling?" I ask. (I'm wondering if I can taunt him into letting me turn back around.)

"What'd I say about questions?"

"Something about not asking them, I believe." I give him another look over my shoulder. And then I think about bending over for him again, about him holding on to my hips and railing me from behind. (I don't bend over, but I do think very hard about it.) (I want it. I want it, and I'm afraid of it. But I think it's the sort of fear that means something good.)

"I love you, you insolent twat."

I turn to look at him, because I have to. Because he's taking me apart. Because I want to take him apart, too. Because I've never felt so much.

The words don't seem like enough.

His eyes are soft. And he looks exasperated. Also I absolutely need to get him out of his clothes.

I need to touch him, to feel the weight of his warm cock in my hand. To smooth my tongue beneath the head. To let him imagine what it'll be like one of these days when I get my tongue pierced, just for him.

I want to tell him how much I love him, but I decide that—for now—I'll show him instead.

He crosses his arms and sighs when I wrap a hand around myself. "What are you—"

"It's all for you, darling," I tell him, sighing as I gather my precome against my fingertips and bring it to my lips.

He's watching me suck at my own fingers, and I'm making a show of it, really. I'd like him to know what he's in store for. I'd like him to know what he signed up for that night when he let me kiss him for the first time. I'd like him to know that I belong to him, that I'll do anything he wants (with a bit of a fight, first) (with a bit of my own spin).

I lower my hand slowly. (I'm hoping I look at least a bit tantalising.) "What now, my love?"

"As if you'll actually do as I say."

"You underestimate me. Sometimes I only need to be told twice."

"Take off my clothes."

" _Je veux bien te déshabiller, mon chéri_ ," I start as I take my first step towards him. I think I see his heart leap at the French (which could be wishful thinking, but I can dream). My hands are at his jaw, my cock brushing up against his through his jeans. "I thought you'd never ask."

And then I pull his mouth to mine.

**NIALL**

The first time he kissed me, it was at once tender and tentative, impulsive and inimitable, a hint of alcohol and all Dev underneath.

This kiss is a lot like that, only a lot more comfortable. No taste of beer. No conflicting feelings…

I let him open my mouth with his tongue even though I'm supposed to be the one calling the shots.

His face is still chilled from the rain, but his body's warm, long and lean and firm against me. He's moaning softly, and I can practically taste the sounds on my tongue.

I'm trying not to moan back. (I'm almost embarrassed to admit that it takes some effort.)

I'm still thinking about him speaking French (and wondering what I'd have to do to coax more out of him)—and he's still kissing me—when his hands find their way beneath my hoodie. He doesn't let go of my mouth until he has to, when I lift my arms for him and he pulls it up and over my head. I hear it drop to the floor with a gentle _thunk._

I almost let him start kissing me again. But _no._ It'll be better for both of us, I think, if I make him hold off.

I lift my chin to be on his level (he's got an inch on me, maybe two). "Don't."

The cheeky bastard raises one damnable eyebrow at me. "Oh?"

"I told you to take off my clothes," I say. "Do it." I don't tell him I want him to be quick about it. (I think he'll manage that himself.)

My shirt comes off first, almost as fast as I expect it to. He takes a moment to stroke my hip bones with his thumbs, and it's so gentle it's nearly uncomfortable. I feel him watching as I glance down to look at his prick. (I want him to _want,_ and I'm not going to give. Not yet.) It's hard, and full, and flushed, precome glistening at the head. _Good._

Our eyes meet again, and we've a silent agreement not to look away. A sort of competition.

Dev's fingers are cold against my skin, but I think we're both burning.

Excitement and warmth leap in my belly when he grabs me by the belt, my hips pushing and pulling as his hands work the clasp open.

He doesn't drop that eyebrow the entire time.

He's about to go for my jeans when I say, "Boots first."

His impertinent lips curl into a smirk.

And then he drops to his knees, first one, then the other, his eyes locked on mine. It makes me want to knock him over, to crawl on top of him and fight for control while we fuck. To get him screaming. To get him speaking French again...

"Should I unlace them with my teeth?" he asks.

"No," I say, even though it's an oddly arousing thought. (Still, I know where these boots have been, and he kisses me with that mouth.) "And no questions."

He shrugs as he starts on the laces with long fingers. "Suit yourself, darling." There's a pat at the side of my boot. "Lift."

"Lift what."

"Hm." He huffs a laugh. "You like this, don't you? Ordering me around."

"I'd like it more if you behaved."

He sits back on his heels and turns his head up to me. Fuck my life, he's gorgeous. I'm not going to tell him so. (Also I think he'd look even better in a collar. In a harness. Something leather. Something for me to grab on to.) (Lucky for me, I think he'd be keen.)

He tugs at my foot. "Lift please, _sir_."

I do.

**DEV**

We should do this more often, the whole slow strip thing. I'm about one hundo percent sure my dick is dripping on his floor right now.

His boots and socks are gone, and I'm eyeing his desk, mostly because I'm putting his cock in my mouth as soon as it's free, and he might need something to lean on.

Thing is, I don't think he'd take kindly to me telling him what to do.

It's jammy for me that these dorms are small. It won't take much to push him back into it.

His jeans are damp, but I can still feel the heat of him through the fabric as I set my hands flat against his front pockets. As I push gently, and he takes a step back, out of instinct, probably. Probably he doesn't even realise what he's done.

I dare to glance up at him again as I trace the outline of his cock with my palm. As I press against him, and his eyes fall closed. As his fingers start to twine in my hair. As I bring my mouth to the front of his jeans—because I don't want to stop touching him, because he's _mine,_ because he means the world, because his cock is a fucking masterpiece, who am I kidding—and use my teeth to slip the button free.

He's looking down at me now, and the light's low in here, but I can still see how his eyes are amber-rimmed-black.

Then his hand clenches tight in my hair, and I gasp, and my heart leaps. My cock twitches. _Fuck._

"I thought I said _no,_ " he says.

"Actually," I say, and I throw in a lip lick for good measure. "You said _no_ to the shoes. The trousers were fair game— _ah._ "

He's giving me a hard look, and I'm practically panting. (I never realised how good it is to have my hair pulled.) (Maybe it's just because I needed it to be Niall.)

I'm just hoping he'll do something—tighten his grip, yank my head back more, pull harder, _anything—_ when he says, "That okay?"

"If you're really so concerned—" Fuck, my chest is _heaving._ "Maybe a safe word."

"I didn't think of that."

"Neither did I, darling, but I can't have you wrecking me then asking whether it's _okay._ "

"What then?" He's still holding me by the hair, so much so that my thighs are starting to burn a bit. I'd say I can't believe we're having this conversation right _now,_ in this _way..._ but that'd be a goddamned lie wouldn't it? This is absolutely on par with everything that's gone on thus far.

I fucking love it.

"Bonana," I say.

"What?"

"Like banana but with an O in. Like boner. And banana. I'll fucking explain later."

"Yeah, okay. Bonana?"

"Yes, fuck, just—"

He loosens his grip a bit. "Oh, fuck, sorry—"

"I didn't say _bonana_! That's how safe words work!"

"Christ alive, just—"

"If it isn't objectionable to you," I breathe, "I'd like to continue stripping you with my teeth, thanks."

“Isn’t that how we got into this mess?”

I try to look annoyed. I try to look like I’m not the one naked on his knees being held up by the hair. (Fuck, what a sentence.) “I hate to break it to you, but you’re the one who’s objecting to this for some reason— _fuck—_ ”

“You do as _I_ say. Not the other way ‘round.”

“Then _please._ ” I’m still palming his cock through his jeans. It’s been pulsing this entire time. I press against it now, and the quietest, sexiest moan falls out of him. It’s even better because I know he didn’t mean to make it. “Tell me.”

He breathes deep. I’m almost surprised he doesn’t use his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. (If people did that in real life, anyway.) “Take off my jeans. With your teeth. Give that unruly mouth of yours something better to do.”

I lift an eyebrow at him, and slowly, _slowly,_ his fingers loosen in my hair. I use the newfound freedom to cock my head to the side. “Yes, sir,” I say.

And then I go for his flies.

**NIALL**

I’ve a fleeting thought that we need to talk about whether safe words apply to emotional insults.

It’s embarrassing, saying these things. Some of them I don’t even mean. But it’s _exhilarating,_ too, and if he didn’t like it, I can’t imagine he’d be trying to pull my zip down with such vigour right now.

Or trying to reach for his prick with the hand that isn’t currently playing with mine.

“You don’t get to touch yourself,” I say to the ceiling. (I’m not sure when my head tipped back.) (Probably between seeing _that_ and telling him not to do it…) He actually groans against me, a sweet vibration that has me wishing he’d hurry the fuck up with my trousers already.

His wandering hand comes up to help tug at my jeans. They’re still damp from the rain, clinging to my thighs, putting up a fight.

If I were better at this, I’d make him keep on hands-free.

As it is, I almost help him myself.

I _do_ have to step out of them myself, of course. And at this point I’m burning so bad that I stumble. Dev catches me by the hips, and pushes me gently, and my arse hits my desk.

It’s not a big room, but I can’t remember stepping back enough to get here.

It’s another fleeting thought, because Dev’s started mouthing at my length through my pants, and I feel like I might combust if he doesn’t take them off _now._

I don’t want to seem too desperate…

He’s either read my mind, or he’s just as horned up, because not even a second later, I feel his tongue tracing the skin just above my waistband. And then his nose is pressing into the space between my hip and my belly. Once. Twice. Different angles—

And then he snorts. “There’s no bloody way.” His head tilts back until his chin is resting against my belly, his big brown eyes looking up at me. “I’ll look a tit if I try to hook my teeth in there.”

“Looking a tit’s never stopped you before.”

“Permission to divest you of your pants in a more efficient way, darling sir?”

“I’m gonna smack you.”

“Mm. Kinky.” And then his fingers are hooking in my waistband, his mouth moving down and down and down my thigh with each new inch of skin. He’s so close. So fucking close…

I look down as he kisses his way back up my leg. As he looks me dead in the eye. There’s a question there, I think…

“Suck my cock,” I tell him. (I’m trying for a steady voice. I barely succeed.)

His eyebrow gives me a once-over.

And then he does as I say.

**DEV**

I still need film of this. Or at least a photo.

Niall's bare arse pressed against his desk, where he's probably done enough maths to get the pair of us through uni. (I don't know why I find that so bloody attractive. I fucking hate maths. I'll be done after next term. For fucking ever.) Pale, freckled thighs spread wide enough for me to fit between them. (Still wild, outside the context of like, I don't know. Rugby.) (Has he caught me between his thighs during rugby? Just fucking around?) (Surely I'd remember that. Surely I would've figured this out sooner...)

Anyway, I'm sucking him off.

He's barely making noise, and I think I've figured out why by now. I think he does it on purpose. Or he _doesn't_ on purpose, I suppose.

I dip my tongue against the head of his cock as I pull off, just to see if I can get a rise. I feel his thigh flex beneath my hand, and I think I've got him.

I kiss him where I felt his muscle move. Then I let my eyes drift up to his face.

He's got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. That right there could be enough to make a man come. (I don't. Not _yet._ )

"You can talk," I tell him. And, just to be a shit, I tuck my fingers up behind his bollocks. (Also to see if he likes it.) (He's giving me his best Niall version of a sneer, so I'll take that as a yes.) "Sorry," I say as I stroke the skin there. "Meant, 'you can talk, _sir_.'"

He shakes his head. "You don't tell me what to do," he says, and I can hear the slight little shake in it. It's just about the sexiest thing I've ever heard. "Now. Put your pretty mouth to work."

Fuck me.

I wink at him and pretend my soul didn't just disperse into oblivion.

And then I sink back down onto him and revel in the breath he takes, in the way his fingers wind their way back into my hair.

I wonder what he'd do if I moved my fingers back. If I touched him somewhere he's _probably_ never been touched. And then I surprise the hell out of myself by being too nervous to try.

I mean, his arse is pressed against the desk, so it's not like he's readily accessible anyway. And also, we've not really talked about that particular venture since New Year's. And also...I don't know.

So in the end, I don't unceremoniously attempt to stroke his arsehole, but it's probably a close thing.

I _do_ keep my fingers where they are. And then I press upwards, and take him as deep as I can, and Jesus fuck I think I just accidentally made him come.

Yep. Yep, sure did.

I gag. His cock is the eighth wonder of the world, a thing of sheer beauty, the fucking beacon of all boners. And I'm quite certain it just jabbed me in the uvula.

I'm for it. I'm up for anything, really.

**NIALL**

Christ alive.

I didn't think I was that close.

My legs are still shuddering against the fucking desk.

I have never had an orgasm sneak up on me like that. They've always been a reliable and methodical sort of equation.

I don't know what the fuck he _did_ …

I yank at his hair, pulling him off my prick. He's breathing hard, and my come is starting to drip from the sides of his lips. (I don't think I gave him time enough to swallow…) I'm ashamed for a moment, but then he starts to grin at me.

And then that wicked tongue of his gets to work.

I find myself wondering how it'd look with a piercing in it. How it would _feel_.

This is probably one of the only times I've wanted to actively enable him. Go on, _darling_ , off to the piercer's with you.

I let go of his hair and bring my hand to his throat again. His pulse is fluttering hard beneath my fingers. I can feel him swallowing my come down beneath my palm.

Fucking shit.

I lift his jaw to me. Not too hard. "Kiss me," I tell him.

It's the fastest he's obeyed an order all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: some of this was plotted out 150ft underground in a texas cave
> 
> also i uh. drew some art for this chapter but haven't found somewhere that can host nsfw art so i can embed it here. SO! [here's the link.](https://img3.pillowfort.social/posts/b47c8abb05dd_1401AA64-A9A0-4831-9DEC-264AE324B097.png) there you will find my pillowfort (how embarrassing for me) which is currently dominated by nsfw deniall art. i might have a problem.
> 
> also i realize i said we'd get to the hot shower in chapter 2 but they clearly Got Away From Me so. i'm adding a 3rd chapter. i'll write that & post after the countdown is over, most likely. (i think i've finally gotten them away from the desk.) hope y'all enjoyed this installment at least! thank you so much for reading. it means a lot to me <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this so far! I'm hoping to have chapter 2 ready for day 18 (side ship day). it is currently nearing 8k & is very horny so LOL get ready for that shower i guess :smirk emoji:
> 
> [BTL DeNiall playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2fMIpM544y6XTNlFC7SC1a?si=5FWR258XTzSS-5AWTbzrAg)
> 
> If you enjoyed this & haven't read the main fic yet, [check it out here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685069/chapters/44312203) It's my sweet sweet baby. 
> 
> ALSO! I made a fandom [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/thehoneyedhufflepuff/) Come visit me if you want! 
> 
> I'm also still on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thehoneyedhufflepuff) because I like to suffer


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